


Firewatch

by Aalligade



Category: Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: Dog BT, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Firefighter AU, Illegal Cats, M/M, Modern AU, Reluctant Bonding, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yes people will die, can you tell that’s my favorite dynamic?, how did I come up with this? It’s a secret ;), im bad at tagging, maybe something in later chapters....? ;), no beta we die like men, possible mullet tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aalligade/pseuds/Aalligade
Summary: “God, all alone out there with nothing but the elements and your own mind. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”“And yet, here you are.”“And yet, here I am.”~*~A modern firefighter au
Relationships: Jack Cooper/Viper (Titanfall), minor Davis/Droz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Firewatch

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. I promised myself I’d save this until A Match Made In Hell was finished, but quarantine is kicking my ass. (I’m not going back to school until MAY 15!!!!!)
> 
> So, take this as a sort of peace offering. AMMIH can suck my nuts cuz it’s being a bitch and I have no drive with it. Ugh. 
> 
> Anyways, I know this is like... totally out of left field and (pretty much) unheard of within this tiny fandom, soooo,,,, idk lol
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated. Thanks!

I don’t think I’d call the job _hard,_ exactly.  
Demanding would be a more fitting word. (In my opinion, at least.) You wake up, stare at a wall until something catches on fire, stop the fire, then go back to sleep.   
(Alright, maybe I’m simplifying this whole situation a little too much.)

The fires come and go, but the cycle is constant. Nothing really surprises me anymore.   
It’s better that way, I think. The days blur together, but everything has its place. The natural order is kept. With exceptions, of course. (Cough, Davis, Cough.)  
We follow in the footsteps of the forest. (I know how artistic and metaphorical that sounds, but it’s true.) After a fire, we retreat, lick our wounds, then start anew.

I’ve only been a part of the SRS for two years, but the pattern has become predictable. Familiar. Comforting, in a strange sort of way. The circle starts over every day, and I know what’s going to happen. (Lastimosa seems to find that funny. He thrives on unpredictability— he and I have very different views when it comes to the nature of this job. I honestly don’t know what he’s going to do when he retires. The boredom will probably kill him.)

The job keeps me on track, at least. I think I’d fall apart without a schedule.  
The only time I ever hate the job is when I’m on firewatch. It only ever lasts a week, but it might as well be a month with how _boring_ it is. One can only keep themselves entertained for so long.

 _Technically,_ I’m supposed to have a partner. But the person I used to get stuck with has since... moved onto greener pastures, so to speak.  
(Gates didn’t die, she just got married. Good for her, I say. It’s a lonely job, and she deserved a way out.)

So now it’s just me and whoever happens to be on radio duty. Which, most of the time, ends up being Davis or Anderson. Not that I’m complaining, anyways. No one else would hold their phone up to the mic so that I could listen to whatever show they’re watching.   
Out there, my routine is in place just to keep me sane.

But I haven’t been sent out in a month, even though I know I had been scheduled. When I asked Briggs about it, she said the isolation would be “damaging to my fragile mental state.” Whatever _that_ means.   
(I know she’s talking about The Fire. I thought that I’d been handling it well. Apparently not.)

Hm. Right. _The Fire._ The memories of the smoke and the fear are seared (ha ha) into my memory. It had been one of the worst fires in recent history, and we lost seven good men to it.   
If it had been allowed to burn for another hour, it would’ve reached the city.

I’m not entirely convinced I hadn’t survived only due to dumb luck. Lastimosa, however, claims that there’s no such thing.   
(He’s been a part of this team for the better part of 20 years— maybe I should believe him.)

I only ended up suffering minor, superficial burns, but others weren’t as lucky. In the week following the fire, there was talk of a city fireman who had gotten caught in the flames. Apparently, he survived, but is now sporting a nasty new set of scars. Poor guy. Hope he’s doing well.

According to Briggs, I’ve been in a near-constant depressive state since then. The team threw me something of a pity party last week. I thought it seemed a bit tasteless, but I figured everyone just wanted to get their minds off the doom and gloom that hung over the station like a cloud.

The whole party has been fairly mild and   
uneventful— until Davis showed up, at least. He had saddled up next to me, and pulled open his coat to reveal a— uh, Saint Bernard puppy?   
“He’s our new mascot. His name’s BT,” He had told me. “I named him after the first two letters of my license plate.”

“But... why?” I asked in return.

“The breeder asked me what I wanted to name him and I panicked.”  
Huh. For a smokejumper, Davis performs remarkably poorly under pressure.

In the end, I’m the one who gets to take care of “BT.” He sleeps at the end of my bed, begs me for food, and jumps on me every time I walk into the room. (I love him, though. I’ve always wanted a dog— plus, the added responsibility keeps me busy.)

BT couldn’t have come at a better time, to be honest. He’s provided a conclusive boost to the station’s morale. (Although, I guess that _is_ the entire point of having a mascot.)  
He’s managed to worm his way into the hearts of everyone at the base, and fits into the family nicely. Good thing, too. The fire left the whole place feeling empty.

~*~

My eyes open, and the world comes into crisp, clear focus. The sound of my alarm registers fully with my sleep-riddled mind, and I have half the brain to just shut it off and go back to sleep. (Not that I will. It’s impossible for me to go back to sleep once I’ve woken up.)  
I’ve woken up to the same song since my college days— I’m honestly not sure if I love it or hate it at this point.

I reach up and run my eyes, ridding myself of the last remnants roll of sleep. I had another   
nightmare— that much I can tell from the sticky feel of my sheets and my damp t-shirt. I should probably see someone about them. (And I would, if the nearest therapist wasn’t two hours away.)

“BT,” I groan, feeling the weight at the end of my bed shift as he eagerly moves to come greet me. Something wet— his nose, probably— presses against my arm.

“You want out?” I reach down without looking, running my fingers through the soft fur. “Such a smart boy... I could probably use you as my new alarm clock.”  
He sneezes in response. (Not that I had been expecting an actual answer.)

I sit up slowly, hooking an arm under BT.   
“Just give me a minute, ‘kay?” I yawn, like he’ll understand what I’m saying. (But hey, maybe he does. Briggs says he’s “exceptionally smart.” I’ll just have to take her word for it.)  
I stand, then lean down in order to drop BT on the ground.

Once I’ve gotten ready, (aka, once I’ve put sweatpants on,) I open the door and let him run out.

“Hey, look who it is!” Something— some _one_ slaps my shoulder, and I turn sharply to glare at them. “Mornin’, sleeping beauty!”

“Davis,” I nod at the smokejumper (who is wearing a too-small shirt that has, of all things, Lightning McQueen on it.) “You’ve told the same joke every morning for two years, and it still isn’t funny. Has anything come in?”

“You mean has anyone set something on fire? Nah, nothin’ under our jurisdiction, anyway,” He shrugs, taking a sip out of his mug. “But here’s to hoping, right? I’d take a fire over another one of Briggs’ meetings.”

“Oh shit, is that today?” I groan, running a hand through my hair. “I thought it was tomorrow... any clue what it’s about? God, I don’t think I could sit through another lecture on proper helicopter maintenance.”

“Anderson really appreciated it,” He laughs lightly. “But no, I think it’s more along the lines of uh... addressing some recent... _openings_ so to speak.”  
The hallway seems to get ten degrees colder at the mention of the emptiness. Davis must feel it too, as he pulls his arms closer to his chest.

“Oh,” I say stupidly. “I, uh... hm.”

“Thought we’d just keep going and never mention it?” He supplies helpfully. “Me too. It just feels wrong to even discuss replacing them...” He glances down, watching the stained carpet as if it’s something interesting. “But... I guess it’s sort of a necessary evil, huh? Gotta keep movin’, Coop. Like a shark, or whatever.”

Huh. Wise words coming from a man wearing a shirt meant for children.


End file.
